


Truth can break the gates down, truth can howl in the street

by OldShrewsburyian



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Camelot, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e07 The Secret Sharer, Gen, Magic, Medieval Medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldShrewsburyian/pseuds/OldShrewsburyian
Summary: I've arrived (almost) a decade late with an episode tag. On a rewatch of the show, I was struck by how desperately sad "The Secret Sharer" is. It's all very well to say, as Merlin does, that Arthur will have to be told about magic... but how is that possible in this Camelot? In the aftermath of torture and destruction and betrayal, Arthur makes a not-quite-apology... and Gaius, convalescent, watches Merlin and thinks about magic and the king he serves. Gaius' POV.
Relationships: Gaius & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gaius & Gwen (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	Truth can break the gates down, truth can howl in the street

Gaius has closed his eyes and he is floating. Though distantly conscious of the pillows at his head, the weight of the coverlet over his legs, he has the strange sensation of being somewhere above them, somewhere between his own bed and the stone slab where he had lain for… had it been two days? More? Less? He should be able to remember such a simple thing…

“Easy.” The voice is familiar, beloved, though he cannot quite place it. There is a steady hand on his forehead; he does not think to resist what he is being given to drink. Gaius relaxes a little: valerian and camomile, lavender and… lemon balm, that’s it. _Merlin._ Gaius smiles, and sleeps.

When he wakes again, he is more firmly aware of being in his own body and his own bed. _That’s good_ , he tells himself. _That’s good_. It seems difficult to open his eyes — his lids feel heavy, as with little sleep or long illness — but he manages it. The room is quiet and dark, the shutters closed against the moonlight; but the glow of an oil lamp on the table shows him a dark head against the pale bedclothes. Gaius shuts his eyes again. If there were immediate danger, he knows, Merlin would be with his king.

He is roused by a noise in the hall: the unmistakable, brisk chinking of mail. It is a familiar sound in Camelot, where guards and soldiers are never far away. Gaius sighs. He finds himself thinking that there had been, at least, a kind of cleanness to the battle in the cave under Kemeray, where lines of enmity and alliance had been clearly drawn. And the other man’s weapons had been the same as his own. There had been agony, yes; but there had been no hypocrisy, and no betrayal.

The next noise is a fumbling with the door handle, and then Gwen sidles into the room.

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Oh!” She nearly loses her grip on the tray. “You’re awake.”

“As you see.”

“Don’t sit up,” says Gwen, setting her burden down. “I’ll just fix the pillows, it’s no bother.”

Gaius smiles indulgently at her. “I’m all right, really,” he assures her. “Just… tired.”

“Mm. Well. Merlin said I was to bring you this for breakfast. He had a complex medical reason for it, which I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”

Gaius examines the contents of the tray and chuckles. “To cool the humors, restore the strength, and comfort the mind.”

“All of that!” Gwen is dimpling at him.

“Indeed.”

After a visible internal struggle, Gwen puts the bowl of honeyed porridge into his hands. He salutes her with the spoon, and she blushes. “He was really worried for you, you know,” she says softly.

“I know.”

“I don’t mean…” She makes a fluttering gesture. “I didn’t mean that it was your _fault_ , of course. I just thought you should know.” She smiles, a little ruefully. “He may spend all day and half the night running around after Arthur, but he’s devoted to you. And I can tell he’s relieved. I thought he might not have had time to say.”

Gaius sighs. “He hasn’t.”

* * *

When Merlin returns to the workshop, it is already dark enough that Gaius, wakened with the lifting of the latch, can sham sleep. Merlin, having shut the door behind him, stands for some moments leaning against it, his hands pressed against his face. Observing him from under lowered lids, Gaius wonders how often he has done so, in his own chamber at night. With a sigh the boy crosses to the table. He waves his hand, and there is flame in the lamp where there was none before; Gaius does not hear the words. Perhaps Merlin has passed the need to use them. By lamplight, then, Merlin works, sharp shadows thrown by his bones, deep shadows under his eyes.

Gaius coughs, not intentionally. He has time to think that Merlin replaces the alembic with a surprisingly steady hand.

“Gaius? It’s all right, you’re safe.”

Merlin drops to his knees by the bed, and Gaius wonders, with a pang, how Merlin has come to know that safety is the first need of a frightened human animal. Reaching out, he can just manage to run his fingers through his apprentice’s hair.

“You’re all right?” asks Merlin; but he has already slumped against the bed, his shoulders dropping. “Need anything?”

“No,” says Gaius, very softly. “No, my boy.”

For a little time they are silent. Then: “I used magic to clean your rooms,” says Merlin flatly. The motion of Gaius’ hand stills. “Locked the door first. But they… he accused you of sorcery, of course — Agravaine — and they _enjoyed_ it, the guards. ‘Be thorough,’ comes the royal command, and it’s a license to them, a license to smash and, and destroy things they don’t understand.”

“I didn’t notice,” says Gaius, and it is the truth. Given time, he knows, he would have done. There is a feeling about objects mended with magic. But he had not noticed.

“I almost told him,” says Merlin. He is very pale, and his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, but this is not what worries Gaius. What worries Gaius is the despair in his voice. “I almost _showed_ him.” Merlin falls silent, then, and Gaius waits, letting himself stroke the boy’s head.

“They weren’t even very good books,” says Merlin, almost dreamily. “Just… newish grimoires. Contraband from Essetir, probably. Nothing of real _power_. But they were enough. Enough for Arthur to believe that you had… had willfully betrayed him. I almost did it then. I could have shattered the windows. I could have brought one of those shields down on Agravaine’s head. I pictured it happening.” Merlin sighs.

“None of it mattered,” says Merlin. “I asked Arthur how he could believe it. And the evidence was enough for him. One night’s evidence, against years of service. And when I told him that Agravaine had fabricated the story, he said that he would ignore that remark, or lose trust in me entirely. He won’t… Did he apologize to you?” asks Merlin suddenly.

Gaius draws a long breath. “He said,” he replies carefully, “that he had made a mistake.”

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it. We’re only servants,” says Merlin bitterly. “We’re only servants, and he won’t apologize, and he won’t listen.”

“Merlin, look at me.” Gaius waits until he does. _Not a boy’s face at all, really_ , he thinks: it is a man’s terrible anguish that shows in it. “We can survive,” says Gaius, “and we can hope that one day, he will understand. Until then…” He hesitates, and he thinks of prophecies, and surprising alliances, and startling power. “Until then,” he says firmly, “we survive.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Hilary Mantel's _Bring Up the Bodies_ :
> 
> "What is the nature of the border between truth and lies? It is permeable and blurred because it is planted thick with rumour, confabulation, misunderstandings and twisted tales. Truth can break the gates down, truth can howl in the street; unless truth is pleasing, personable and easy to like, she is condemned to stay whimpering at the back door.”


End file.
